I think I've fallen for you
by Kittycait101
Summary: It's three years since Sherlock jumped. John is still grieving and in denial that he was fake. John returns to Baker Street to be met with a familiar face. I do not own any of these characters as much as I'd love to. These are in no way mine. Rated T for language and violence/torture. Please feel free to leave any reviews, they are more than welcome. ;D Xx kittycait101
1. So alone

John closed he door silently behind him, feeling the cold air rush through to streets of London and sting his eyes. It was late, around 8 at night and in the winter. The roads dampened by rain and the drunken groups of young parties gathered laughing and shouting on the streets. John sighed heavily and continued down the winding roads of London. He stopped at the corner of Baker Street staring at the red and white canopy of Speedy's cafe.

"Shit. I can't do this."John mumbled to himself.

He continued to walk in the direction of the cafe. Then he stopped. There it was, the black door of 221b Baker Street. His hand lingered on the doorway and his other fumbled for the key in his pocket. It fit easily but his hand wouldn't turn. Instead, he pressed his forehead against the door, wishing he heard the sweet melody of sherlocks violin playing through the walls. Silence. The door clicked open and he was immediately greeted by Mrs Hudson closing her arms around him. He stumbled back in surprise.

"John dear, does this mean you're staying?" She smiled.

"No, I don't think I can. Not right now. How've you been?"

She released her grip from his shoulders and gave a sympathetic look.

"I'm fine dear, do you want tea?"

"Yes, please."

The landlady glimpsed down at John's hand, which clutched a walking stick tightly.

"Oh, dear. "

"I'm ok."

"Come on, sit yourself down."

He followed her up the stairs silently.

"Who's been paying for the flat? It hasn't been touched"

"Oh, Mycroft. Never told me why of course, he was always so secretive."

"Yes, Well, he is the British government."

"I'll get you that cuppa dear. "

"Yes, thank you."

John's hands were trembling noticeably, after drinking his tea he journeyed to his old room which had been cleaned out entirely. Leaving an empty shell of the room it used to be. He went back downstairs and lay his bag on sherlocks bed, a tear rolling down his cheek. His hands smoothed the wrinkles on the bed.

"I miss you sherlock."


	2. The good old fashioned villain

John woke suddenly to find himself on sherlocks bed. The contents of his bag were scattered across the floor. He turned on his side to view the clock. 6:45. In truth, it was probably the longest he had slept in a long time. He shuffled sleepily across the room and through the door.

It was a cool morning on Baker Street. The pavements were lined with a thin layer of ice and the breeze was bitter cold. John started to walk down the street, noticing a long black car trailing behind him. He gave a sigh, it was only a matter of time before Mycroft would enquire about his stay at Baker Street. Unsurprisingly the car door opened, revealing a young woman with blonde hair gazing up at him. Clearly Mycroft had outgrown his use for Anthea since his time way from Baker Street, she was probably too busy texting to care anyway.

"Let me guess, if I don't get in the car I get threatened."

The girl gave a smirk and gestured to the empty seat. Sighing, john climbed into the car, not even attempting to ask where they were going. The girl stared out of the window silently, more preferable then the constant clicking of a mobile.

The car stopped outside a small warehouse. 'well, this is original.' Watson got out of the car. The car park was empty and old and a dark figure stood in the distance. He started to walk over.

"Long time, no see Mycroft. You could of just asked you know?"

He didn't respond.

"Mycro-"

A gun clicked behind him, forcing him to stop. A large crack at the back of his head sent him falling to the ground, hitting his head on the concrete floor.

"Always was so touchingly loyal...And so profoundly obvious."

The dark haired man stood towering over Watson.

"...You? You...were dead..." John stuttered, the blood trickling down his face. He tried to push himself off the floor but collapsed again.

"Oh, Johnny boy. So predictable. Don't try and be the hero now, the fun is just getting started!"


	3. Blinking red lights

***three years earlier***

**John stood in the large room, the flashing cameras of the media almost blinding him.**

**"To whoever knew Sherlock Holmes, you will know he was the most intelligent, brilliant man you'll ever of met. He could look at you and see your life in seconds, know your feelings before you do yourself and no one can tell me he was a fraud."**

**The corner of his eyes filled with tears, he managed to wipe them away, still being blinded by the bright flashes of camera's.**

***now***

John woke up with a pounding head. The dried blood left half his face stained red. His arms stretched up above his head and chained at the wrists tightly, cutting into his skin. He struggled against his binds, causing blood to run down his arms. His eyes tried to focus on the dimly lit room.

"Oh! I think he's waking up!" Moriarty stood looming in the shadows.

A fair haired man strode toward him, holding an object tightly grasped in his hand. It glinted in the light briefly and john could just see the serrated edge of the knife. He struggled to break free as it was raised to his cheek, cutting the makeshift gag. The knife rested against his cheek drawing a thin line of blood.

"Now doctor Watson, you have a little job. If you play anything there'll be consequences. Do you understand?" Moriarty asked.

John gave a nod in response, the energy drained out of him.

"Good!"

A small blinking red light flashed on. Moriarty holding a hand held camera pointing at his face.

"Hello! Today, we're going to tell a story!...Once apon a time, there was a man who used to get very bored, until one day, an ex-soldier came home from fighting in a terrible war. They moved in together and became the best of friends. Happily eve- no, no no. You see, there came a time when the man got bored again, so along came a spider. The spider told him lots of puzzles and riddles and in return, the man had to fall. You see the relevance doctor Watson?"

The camera quickly turned to Watson who had been stripped of his shirt.

"So one day, the spider faked his death in order to kill the man, but the man didn't die did he? No, he left his poor army doctor to cry over his grave while he captured the spiders friends. One by one, they went missing. So the spider decided to take the man's only friend in exchange for exchange for his own."

The fair-haired man standing next to Watson traced the edge of his knife down his front. Causing john to grimace in pain.

"Now Sherlock, I think I've found someone who would be very happy to see you. He talks about you in his sleep you know? How quaint. You release Sebastian Moran and john lives, if you can find him."

The knife rose to the scar on his shoulder, where it plunged into his skin. A burning sensation, followed by sharp, unimaginable pain as the blood trickled heavily down his bare skin. He managed a strangled cry followed by a strained gasp as the knife was removed.

"I recon he has around... 5 hours perhaps. I wouldn't want to take the risk though. Would you?"

Moriarty concluded and stopped the camera.

"John, don't die on me yet. I'd like to see the emotional reunion first."


	4. Lighting the match

_*two days earlier*_

_"You should stay away from him. It's not safe and you know it."_

_"I can't. I can't do this anymore Mycroft."_

_"So you will just turn up on his doorstep after all this time? What do you think his reaction will be? It's been three years Sherlock."_

_"Do you not think I know that? Everyday I have to wake up and knowing that if I returned it would never be the same but I can't stay away."_

_"So it was more than friendship then?"_

_"I don't have friends. Not anymore."_

_Mycroft gave a sigh, knowing full well that he'd just dodged the question completely._

_"We have Moran. After the last of the web has been destroyed you can go back. But I'm warning you sherlock, he won't take it well."_

_Sherlock left. Leaving Mycroft with the bill for the coffees._

_*now*_

Sherlock's phone buzzed. It had been given to him by Mycroft and had only one number: Mycroft.

'You will want to see this, I'm sending Anthea. Be nice and don't do anything stupid. -MH'

'It would be a lot easier if you just told me. -SH'

'Watch it. -MH'

Anthea knocked at the door. It was fast and slightly heavy, the messages from Mycroft indicated it was quite important. After a huge internal debate on whether to open the door or not, he did. Anthea had a frown on her face, she pushed an envelope into his hands and left promptly.

He opened the envelope, It contained a disk which he pushed into his laptop. He started back when the picture of Moriarty stared back at him. He sunk Into his seat, hands steepled under his chin as Moriarty continued to talk.

"I told you I would burn you sherlock, well here's me lighting the match."

The camera turned to face john. Sherlock's heart stopped. John. His John, was being tortured and it was all a game to Moriarty. 5 hours. No, more like three now.

'Release Moran. -SH'

'No Sherlock. -MH'

'You have to. -SH'

'Its not an option. Moran tried to kill you and John. -MH'

'He will die Mycroft. -SH'

'How much do you care about him? -MH'

'You couldn't imagine. -SH'

...

'Moran will be released within the hour. Don't make me regret it Sherlock.- MH'

Sherlock smiled to himself a little, then quickly remembered his situation. He called Lastrade who had found out about his return a little more than a year ago.

"Lestrade, there's no time to explain, I need your help."

"Sherlock? What the hell's happening?"

"Later. I'll text you the address."

"I'm busy, Sherlock. What is it?"

The phone hung up. Lastrade sighed to himself and read the message sherlock had sent him.

'Come at once, it's important. -SH'

followed by an adress at he bottom.

" I'll be back in a bit!" He shouted at no one in particular.

"Where are you going?" Asked Sargent Donovan

"Sherlock."

"Tell the freak you have a job to do, you dont have to run around after him. Yon know that don't you?"

"Shut up Donovan."


	5. Tick, tock goes the clock

Lestrade watched the video, the message had been expected for some time. But John playing the main character In the video was truly horrific. There was a look on johns eyes: fear, pain certainly but something else: doubt. John was doubtful.

"_The bars he's chained to are made of iron, the lighting is almost non existent apart from the rectangle above the wall. It's an old prison cell within around 70 miles judging by the time it would of taken to get there."_ He was talking too fast for the DI to understand but continued anyway.

He searched abandoned prisons fitting the description, his fingers frantically typed on the phone until he threw it against the wall. Still muttering to himself. Presumably in his "mind palace."

"Sherlock, you need to calm down."

**"No!** _2 within 70 mile radius first is open to public, far too many people, he wouldn't run the risk. Second away from traffic, Closed down 6 years ago." He muttered._

"We'll get him back." The DI rested a reassuring hand on the detectives shoulder, guiding him back onto the sofa.

"_53 miles: approximately 48 minutes and 55 seconds at constant speed of 65 miles per hour, armed guards patrolling the area."_

"Sherlock?"

"2 hours, Greg."

"Sherlock, just listen to me. You turn up there, Moriarty's waiting. Then what?"

"It's me he wants. I intend to give it to him."

"That won't stop him from killing John. "

"It's the only option!"

"Sher-"

"I need your car." He held out his hand, his long fingers curling as a gesture to give him what he needed.

Lestrade reluctantly handed over the keys to his car which had been parked neatly at the front of the house.

"Thank you, for...er... Everything." He said, dangling the keys from the palm of his hand.

Lestrade nodded, slightly shocked that Sherlock could show even a little gratitude. Sherlock turned on his heels and exited through the door, coat bellowing after him.

"i'm coming John"


	6. Hello, Jim

"Seb...Sebastian. Moran?" John slurred. Seeping in and out of consciousness.

"Yes. Very good." Moriarty said patronisingly.

"John Watson. North...Northumberland fusiliers."

"I Know who you are doofus!" Moriarty stood close to him. Trailing his fingers down the lines on johns exposed chest and then punching him hard in the stomach. John arched his back and coughed violently, splattering flecks of blood over his skin.

"Boss?" A mans voice called out from the hallway.

"Sebbie?"

"Yeah." A tall, blonde man strode through the doorway carrying a hand gun at arms length In front of him.

"Good! That means he's on his way!" Moriarty pressed his lips against Sebastian's, making him slightly uncomfortable.

"A new friend, Jim?" He said gesturing to john.

Moriarty chuckled to himself lightly.

Moran stood close to the unconscious John, gazing at the deep, gushing wound.

_***flashback***_

_**John stood at his post, wearing his tight, uncomfortable uniform. But he barely registered it. The sight of his comrades, acquaintances, friends falling beside him brought unbearable pain. The man a little way behind him collapsed to the ground, clutching his side tightly.**_

_**"MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!" One of the men shouted.**_

_**The man lay motionless, unable to move. Watson stood, watching the rise and fall of his chest.**_

_**"Move! He's dead. Move it!"**_

_**"He's alive. I can save him. Let me through." He held a stern, unmoving expression. Showing he wasn't going to be argued with. The man just nodded in reply. Watson rushed to the man, checking his pulse and applying pressure to the bullet wound.**_

_**"I'm doctor Watson, we need to get out of here. What's your name?"**_

_**"Sebastian. Sebastian Moran."**_

_***end flash back***_

"Doctor John Watson, 'best friend' of Sherlock Holmes...we'll see."

"Nor...Northumber...lan...fusil...iers" John murmured.

"Jim? Did you say 'Doctor' Watson?"

"Yes." Moriarty replied impatiently.

Moran's skin turned a sickly shade if white. He tried to disguise his uneasiness with a smirk.

"Sebbie? What's wrong?" Moriarty said in a trying-to-sound-kind way, still his voice held the sadistic tone that that sent shivers down the recipient's spine.

"He's..it's nothi-"

Moran was cut off by a tall, almost emaciated man walking through the door. His long limbs and structured face contrasted with the dark brown curls dancing around his silky pale skin.

He scowled at Moriarty and then inwardly whimpered at John, trying not to show emotion. The words had been drilled into him as a child by his parents and of course, his ever condescending brother: 'Emotion is not an advantage.' He never really understood why. Not until now.

"Hello, Jim."


	7. si vis pacem parabellum

2 guns raised simultaneously. One from the hands of Sebastian Moran. The other from the fair haired man. Moriarty just stood, a smile etched into his face.

"Sherlock! How nice of you to join us." He glimpsed back to the men behind him. "They're so, touchingly loyal. I see why you like having john around. Of course, it's not going to be for long, but the sentiment is all worth it." He grinned.

"Yes, I see you've acquired a new 'pet.'" He held his arms in the air so he could be searched. Sebbie pulled the gun from sherlocks waistband and tucked it into his own. Sherlock smirked. "Well, me and John have a lot of catching up to do, so if you wouldn't mind, cut to the chase."

Moriarty giggled slightly. "Si vis pacem, para bellum"

"If you want peace, prepare for war." Sherlock translated, sighing in irritation.

"Just, so. I promised you I would burn your heart Sherlock. And I do keep my promises." He stood next to Watson, who had his arms still bound tightly above his head. "Shame he's unconscious, it would have been fun to see his reaction. Still, there are ways to wake him up. I don't have all day after all."

"Don't touch him." Sherlock snarled.

"Oh, I'm not going to. No, I wouldn't want to waste a gorgeous suit like this with his blood." He wore a heartless smile, bearing his blindingly pearl-white teeth. "Patrick, do the honours would you?"

The fair haired man held out his knife, edging over to John.

The plans had been drilled into Moran long before this day. Before he had been handed to Mycroft. Watson was to be tortured while Sherlock watched, unable to help.

Moran raised his gun. The safety clicked off and he squeezed the trigger.

There was an unbearably loud noise that echoed throughout the large room. It lingered in the air The bullet hit Patrick through the chest causing him to fall to his knees and then his front swiftly. Moriarty looked shocked, surprised and enraged at the same time. He stood looming over Moran. Their chests almost flush against each other.

"You really shouldn't of done that." He whispered.

"I'm sorry." Moran replied.

A second bullet fired from Moran's gun and Moriarty fell to the floor. Even as he lay dying there was a madness in his eyes. One that couldn't be replicated or forgotten.

Moran stood above him. Pistol held in firmly in place. He turned to Sherlock and dropped his gun, raising his hands in the air, surrendering.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him. He picked up the gun and pointed at Moran. His fingers fumbled dangerously on the trigger. Seb had killed before, been part of Moriarty's web. Almost got John killed didn't he? But he saved John. And John had saved him.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, stunned.

The older man looked disconsolate. "Doctor John Watson. Fifth Northumberland fusiliers. He saved my life, in Afghanistan. I didn't recognise hi- if I'd of remembered I would of stopped him. " The words almost came out as a plea

Sherlock was surprised. Extremely surprised. Moran clearly had advanced military experience. Same, faint tan as John's on his hands and face indicated he served abroad. But he was older than John. Mid to late forties judging by the grey hair and wrinkled brow.

"You should go before Lestrade finds you." Sherlock said finally.

Moran felt a rush of relief wave over his body. Sherlock was so close to pulling that trigger he'd expected to die. When he didn't, he took his chance and left promptly.

Sherlock rushed to John. He picked the locks around his wrists. Watson slid down the wall only to be caught by Sherlock.

"John? John. Wake up." Entirely supporting the weight of the ex-soldier. "Come on, wake up. Please, wake up."


	8. A serious case of falling for you

John's eyes fluttered open slightly.

"Sher-Sherlock?" John whimpered.

"John. Stay with me."

"You're dead."

"No, I'm not. It was a trick. Just a magic trick." The distant sound of police cars and ambulances grew closer.

"You left me sherlock. You left."

"I did it to protect you, John. I'm not going to leave you again."

"Promise?"

"I promise. I'm lost without my blogger." Sherlock smiled lightly

"Sherlock?" Lestrade called from he corridor.

"In here!" Sherlock shouted back.

"Bloody hell!" Lestrade exclaimed and he saw the two lifeless bodies sprawled across the floor along with Sherlock cradling Watson in his arms protectively.

"He's alive. Get help."

Lestrade nodded and ran back down the corridor, shouting at the paramedics.

Sherlock found his hands being prized away from the knife wound at Watson's chest. Three men helped the semi-conscious Watson onto a stretcher and carried him through the building with Sherlock following close behind. He clambered into the ambulance after promising Lestrade his statement within the following week.

oOo

John was in and out of surgery for two days. The constant, steady beat of the heart rate monitor kept Sherlock reasonably calm. Although a few of the nurses had refused to be in the same room as him as his remarks were deemed "inappropriate" for their typically upper-class formalities.

Mycroft had paid for a private room in Saint Mary's hospital. His "minor" place in the British government had it's rewards and Sherlock wouldn't settle for anything less.

Watson woke slowly. His arms felt unusually heavy and the bright lights and white walls of the hospital made it hard to adjust.

The room was simple, decorated mutely but to a much higher standard than he was used to.

He leaned over to a small table. A bright bouquet of flowers placed in an ornate glass vase stood in the middle. He reached for the card attached. It depicted a cute hedgehog with a band-aid plastered across its forehead.

Hey Jo,

Get well soon and visit sometime.

Love, Harry x

He gave a small smile and set the card back on the table.

"John."

John kept kept staring at the table. Listening to his heart rate quicken over the monitor. The deep baritone voice barely over a whisper. He couldn't be there. If he turned and Sherlock wasn't there it'd kill him. Break him further.

"John. Look at me."

He felt a warm hand rest against his cheek. He reluctantly let his gaze drift to the man kneeling next to him.

"John?"

A tear drifted down John's cheek, landing firmly on the pillow.

"Sherlock." He choked.

"John I-"

"If I could lift my arms right now I'd punch you."

"I know, I'm-"

"You don't know anything, Sherlock! I waited three years. Three whole years! And all this time you've been alive. You didn't think for one second what It would do to me, did you? I watched you fall! I saw you dead on the pavement. And you didn't give a second thought to what it would do to me!" He shouted between sobs.

Sherlock pulled john to his chest, feeling John's tears seeping through his favourite a-little-too-tight purple shirt. He ran a hand absently through johns short mouse-brown/blonde/silver hair and the other wrapped protectively around his torso.

"John, I'm so sorry. Truly, I am. I didn't have a choice, I wish there was another way."

"Idiot." John let out a shaky breath. "Don't leave me. Okay?"

"You want me to stay?"

"You think I'm going to let you leave after this? I'm never letting you out of my sight."

Sherlock let out a shaky laugh. "I'm not going anywhere. If you're fine with that?"

"I'll never be fine with this Sherlock... But I'm glad you're here."

Sherlock slowly released john from his tight hold and lowered him back to the bed. He straddled his legs over Watson and gingerly pressed a kiss to his lips. Feeling the heat rise up his neck in the form of embarrassment, a blush rose to his cheeks and pulled away quickly.

John looked at him in shock then amusement at the bright red glow to sherlocks cheekbones.

"I'm sorry, sorr- I shouldn't of- it won't happen-"

"You moron." John suppressed a laugh and stared at him blankly. "Took you long enough."

"What?"

"I've waited three years for that." He grinned, pulling Sherlock down by the lapels of his shirt and kissing him as if his life depended on it.

"Oh really?" Sherlock asked when the kiss broke. "Well, I guess you've got some catching up to do. Because I've been waiting 5."

"Thought you were married to your work."

"I was. And I thought you weren't gay."

"I wasn't."

"Mmhm." He mumbled, leaning down for another kiss.

John didn't register the click of the door opening until a small disgruntled noise came from the other side of the room.

"I take it I'm interrupting something."

Sherlock pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against John's so their breath mingled. "Observant as ever, Mycroft. What do you want?" He scowled. Not even bothering to look up at his unamused brother, instead he watched the faint red hue appear on John's cheeks.

"I just wanted to grant doctor Watson my condolences for the misfortunate events involving Moriarty, but I can see he's being... taken care of." Mycroft said with his best smug expression.

Sherlock just hummed in agreement and returned to watching John trying to hibernate under his blankets.

"I would give you the big brother speech, John. But I presume know what happens if you hurt Sherlock." He turned and started to walk away.

"I wouldn't dream of it anyway Mycroft." John's muffled voice called after him which earned him a chuckle from Sherlock.

"Baker Street?"

"Baker Street."


End file.
